


3am

by kalika_999



Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [26]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, HYDRA Husbands, M/M, Muteness, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 08:11:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12790395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: His is handwritten whereas everyone else’s that he’s seen is this standard (font?) branded into their skin.





	3am

**Author's Note:**

> My brain was like what about mutes that couldn't say the first words on their soulmate's skin? That and Jack being awkward is my jam.

Working the night shift sucks when all you get are stoners and people looking for directions hoping you’re a fucking GPS system, either that or it was dead and you wanted to sleep.

Brock boredly pours himself over the counter beside the cash register with a hand planted under his chin and fighting not falling asleep from the lack of things to do. He already scratched too many lotto tickets and won just enough to pay off the ones he took. His stomach was currently giving him weird cues on if he should regret eating a microwave chili cheese burrito or not and the shitty elevator music playing on the loudspeakers was giving him ideas about hostages and a murder suicide.

Money was stupid, this was all its fault he had to be here paying off student loans and all that crap straightening up when headlights swept across the store as it turned past the gas pumps and parked to the side. 

Sadly this was the best part of his shift. He glanced at the clock and yep, right on cue at 3am the hottest guy on the planet walked in all long legged and dressed in black jeans, a black t-shirt and a worn leather jacket. He had a badass scar on his face and his hair was slicked back all perfectly in place. His constant irritated expression was also an added bonus that Brock didn’t know he needed, seriously..he’s thought about angry sex in the storage closet with this guy.

The only thing was that hottie didn’t know he even existed. Green eyes barely flicked his way as he walked smoothly through the store all the way to the back always picking up the same two things; a coffee energy drink and, once he arrived to the cash, a road map. As always, the guy doesn’t say a word and the only time Brock’s ever said anything to him was the first time he saw him to tell him how much he owed. After that a bill was placed on the counter, deliberate and careful to make sure it was seen before he took his things and left the same way. 

Brock _maybe_ stares at that ass for much longer than humanly possible before he goes back to his mundane sad college student life and contemplates how much shit he’d get into if he locked the store up and hid in the bathroom.

Anyway.

It just keeps happening during his shifts, no one else's when he’s not in, and the maps make him wonder if he’s fallen for a serial killer.

His friend Clint works his shift when he’s not there and the second time around he tells him his mystery guy showed up on time, steps in, stops and steps out again then leaves. That he’s literally there to see him and Brock is kind of suspect to Barton’s observations considering he’s usually half awake and watching dog videos on his phone. He’s pretty much just a body at the store for the most part and a guy like that being interested in him is kind of..not normal. Maybe in his dreams if he’s lucky.

Clint goes on to ramble about some redhead he’s seen around on campus that seems way out of his friend’s league (no offense) but ended up turning out to be Clint’s soulmate. He’s glad they seem happy together but it also hits him with the glaring reminder that under a thick leather wrist cuff he wears on his left, there’s a weird tattoo there that doesn’t tell him _anything_ about his own soulmate. 

Sure it has one word inked on him which makes sense, everyone gets a word or phrase on their wrist that’ll be the first thing said by their significant other but his is wonky. His is handwritten whereas everyone else’s that he’s seen is this standard (font?) branded into their skin. The handwriting on his skin is neat and tight, orderly he supposes if they wrote more words in that manner. Once he asked some friends about it and there were rumors people with handwritten marks meant their soulmate was dead, it was a way to remember them if you never got to meet the person. 

It sounded stupid and preposterous but it was enough to freak Brock out enough that he covered it up however he could. He didn’t want to think about his dead soulmate if that was the case and besides, people could still date or have some fun, he wasn’t going to let some weird mark get in his way.

It’s the starting of his third week and Brock’s had enough of the torture he’s been enduring. He’s going to finally confront this guy, good or bad he doesn’t care, he just wants his peace and if he doesn’t see his object of affection again he’ll learn to live with it.

The problem with pep talks though were that sometimes you got _too_ riled up to get whatever you had planned over with and by the time he watched his favorite event unfold, he was more than ready. Before the bill came down onto the counter, Brock countered it by slapping his own hand down to push himself into the silent exchange.

“I don’t know whatever game yer playin’ but it’s gotta stop. It’s kinda weird to see you show up every night buyin’ the same thing over and over again and you ain’t even got the nerve to say hi, who knows you may even be a goddamn murderer and.. _and_ Clint says you don’t do the same thing when he’s workin’ so what the hell is that about?!” 

Okay so he didn’t mean to demand it that way but it’s too late to take it back and they stood staring at each other for a long uncomfortable moment that was probably only a few seconds despite it feeling like hours. The only difference to mystery guy’s expression through the whole scene was his brows were raised and was there color across his face? 

It was kind of cute either way which was so beyond the point right now. Eventually hot guy blinks out of whatever he was thinking and slips a hand into his inside jacket pocket while Brock says random prayers because now serial killer guy was going to pull out a gun and waste him for his outburst and he hoped it wasn’t to his face, it was his best feature. 

A couple seconds pass before only a piece of folded paper comes out from the jacket instead of a gun or some deadly weapon and it’s held out for him to take.

In Brock’s stupor he takes it only to stare at the scrap for a long moment. It’s a little worn, actually it’s a lot worn, the paper is flimsy and slightly wrinkled from traveling in pockets and he can feel the ink lines which only causes his heart to startle as he hastily unfolds it just to see two letters forming the one word imprinted on his wrist in neat and tight handwriting. The match is precise and there’s no mistaking it which scares and excites him because _what the fuck_? He just looks at it, quiet and unassuming as the word stares back at him.

_Hi._

Brock feels his hands twitch a little as if expecting accomplices to jump out at him, or friends he was seconds from disowning to yell ‘surprise!’ at him because somehow they conned the hot guy standing before him to get in on this and turn his life upside down. He’s sure no one’s taken a picture of his soul mark but he can’t be 100% about pictures before it was covered up so it _could_ have been a forgery and he’s going to kill everyone-

His mind stops flipping a shit when he realizes tall, dark and handsome shifts uneasily and to him, Brock’s pretty much just looked at the paper and said nothing back. He took one last survey around uneasily before staring into green eyes, “Hi back. Cat caught yer tongue or is that part of yer weird 3 in the mornin’ thing?” 

The guy smiles a little like he’s in on a joke Brock doesn’t know before he lifts a hand to gesture to his throat then mimics a zipper over his mouth, Brock squinting in confusion until it’s not anymore and suddenly he feels his stomach drop as he gapes in horror because now he’s fucking mortified at what he just said.

“Holy shit. I’m a fuckin’ asshole.”

This seems to amuse the guy, breaking out in a wider smile that’s a mix of sweet and amused. He picks up the pen near Brock’s hand and writes something down on a strip of receipt paper.

_Better you than me. I guess I am a little though since I just kept coming back buying the same things over and over again. I didn’t know how to approach you. I’m Jack._

It’s the same handwriting as Brock’s tattoo and it only seems to make him feel more flustered which seems to make Jack worried. He pushes up the sleeve of his leather jacket, exposing his wrist and every route to this being a very ingenious prank dissipates when he sees the sentence marked into Jack’s skin.

_**That’ll be five bucks.**_

**Author's Note:**

> I was gonna title this Pump Up the Jam because that's what was stuck in my head all day, but I didn't. :P


End file.
